


Half-Mark

by Intrepid_Inkweaver



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), M/M, Medium Chaos Corvo Attano, Pining, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Torture, Unrequited Love, one-sided soulmate bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-11-08 00:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intrepid_Inkweaver/pseuds/Intrepid_Inkweaver
Summary: It is the general opinion that if you are half-marked, then clearly, you must have done something heinous to be deserving of such a curse. Before this point, Daud hadn’t really believed that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've been working on this for months, and yet it's so much less than what it feels like? I actually did multiple drafts of this, which I haven't done in a very long time. Maybe another draft would've improved it further, but if I did that, it would never get done. Now to start on the second chapter! *Drags hands theatrically down my face*

_It’s just after he’s put his blade through the Empress’s chest that it happens. Just after pulling it out and letting her fall to the ground. Just after the blood starts seeping into his jacket. In the breath_ ** _ **just after,**_** _he glances at the man on the ground, now trying weakly to pull himself towards his bleeding Empress. For a split second, his eyes meet Daud’s. It’s only a split second, but it’s the most horrifying moment of Daud’s life. For that moment, and for an eternity, he_   ** _ **sees.**_** _He feels the soulmark searing itself onto the skin of his forearm. When he’s finally released from the forces holding him in their grip, he turns and flees because he doesn’t know what else to do. The agonizing horror of it only follows him._

* * * *

Corvo had never liked dealing with Overseers, even before Jessamine had died. Before he’d become a “heretic” in their eyes. Most of them were self-righteous pricks at best--and an army of dangerous zealots at worst. Back when Jessamine was alive, interacting with them was a mere annoyance. Nowadays, it was downright dangerous. Unfortunately, however, along with being a heretic, Corvo was also acting as his underage empress’s Regent in all but title, so dealing with them on her behalf had become part of his job. Thankfully, it was a part that didn’t happen too often.

Emily was unhappily aware of the danger Corvo was walking into. She knew about the mark on the back of his hand, and she knew what the Overseers would do if they found out about it. She’d had a new pair of gloves crafted for the occasion, ostensibly for his birthday, to replace the strip of cloth he usually wore to cover the mark. He didn’t usually care for gloves because he preferred to have his fingers free. He could see why it was practical, however, and now just had to fight the urge to draw undue attention to them by fidgeting too much.

The Abbey had been embroiled in controlled chaos for several months. After the loss of two High Overseers--plus however many men they lost in the ill-fated attack on Daud’s base in the Flooded District, it had taken some time for them to get back on their feet. What Corvo had heard (both through rumors and from carefully keeping a watchful eye on them), indicated that they were working to completely purge corruption from their ranks. A man named Coleman had been named as High Overseer within the past four months. Corvo had never met him, but he had heard that the man was particularly devout--and expected the same level of devotion from his followers. It made them that much more dangerous. Whatever else Corvo could say about Teague Martin, he’d at least been fairly certain he wouldn’t have had him burned at the stake at the first opportunity.

The Overseer that had greeted him upon his arrival led him through the corridors to the High Overseer’s office. It looked considerably more spare than the last time he’d seen it. Coleman was a tall, regal-looking man who came out from behind his desk with a false smile and greeted Corvo with an overly-friendly handshake. “Lord Protector, it’s so good to finally meet you. It’s such a shame that it’s taken this long to arrange a meeting, the Abbey has been in such disarray of late…”

Corvo responded with a polite smile that was just as fake, though considerably less enthusiastic. “You seem to have things well in hand already, High Overseer. Pleased to meet you.”

He nodded. “I try. I only hope to follow the Strictures to the best of my ability and lead others through my example.”

“I’ve heard you’ve already rid yourself of many who were not following the Strictures to the best of their abilities,” stated Corvo.

“Ah, yes. An unfortunate business, to be sure. But we could not have them here--disgracing our good name. Examples had to be made.”

 _ _Examples.__ Yes, Corvo had seen the way Overseers made examples.

“I can see how that would be.”

“Yes, I imagine you can,” Coleman replied softly, eyeing him intently for a moment. Corvo returned the stare coldly until the other man finally changed the subject. “Well, enough with the pleasantries, and on to the business! Come and sit down, Lord Protector, we have much to discuss.”

* * * *

_He puts off thinking about it as long as he can, and for a while it’s surprisingly easy. There’s a flurry of activity involved in getting everyone back to the Flooded District, getting those wounded by the Royal Protector’s blade to the makeshift infirmary, and debriefing the rest of them in his makeshift office. There’s a tense sort of quiet hanging over them at present. Even Billie doesn’t have a lot to say. Eventually, they all trickle out, leaving Daud alone to his thoughts. He fights the inevitable for a while longer before finally giving in._

_He goes upstairs and strips out of his bloodied jacket and shirt. (He hadn’t noticed the stains at first. When he did--well, blood hasn’t bothered him so much in decades.) The soulmark lurks on the skin of his left forearm, about an inch above the wrist. He’s seen other’s marks before, all of them two interlocking circles of graceful Void Script, raised and pearly-white like scars against their skin._

_He has to stare at his own broken mark for a few moments before any emotions register. When they do, it’s all he can do but to push them as far away as he can before they drag him down. He quickly grabs a new shirt and pulls it over his head so at least he doesn’t have to look at it anymore._

* * * *

 The public has always presented the relationship between the government and the Abbey of the Everyman as one of benign partnership. In truth, the two had been in a constant power-struggle for decades. The Abbey constantly chafed at the restrictions the government put them under, while the government was always trying to tighten up their leash. Usually, this went on very politely, with both sides never quite happy with the results. When the rare occasions throughout history when significant ground had been given by one side or the other occurred, nothing good had come of it.

Attending meetings as Jessamine’s shadow had showed Corvo that no matter how routine the meeting, the Abbey would almost always try to gain ground in this little tug-of-war. He’d had the feeling that Coleman was going to be particularly adamant about it. He wasn’t wrong. The new High Overseer was far more motivated in his arguments than Corvo ever remembered Campbell being.

Coleman was particularly focused on the restrictions on the Overseer’s ability to investigate nobles for heresy. The current laws heavily favoured the nobility in these matters, preventing random searches of their homes and possessions and regulating the Overseer’s ability to capture and interrogate suspects. If Corvo had his way, all citizens would have those rights, but that wasn’t likely to happen.  

Corvo had never been formally trained in diplomacy. Everything he knew, he’d learned from observation. Jessamine had surprised him when she’d sent him out to get aide for Dunwall during the rat plague. (The argument about being sent away was still burned on his mind. He’d begged her not to send him--his job was to protect her and Emily. He couldn’t do that from across the Empire. Of course, it had turned out he couldn’t do it when he was here, either.) In the past, intimidation had worked in his favour, and nowadays, he unsettled people without trying. (He could see why every time he looked at himself in the mirror.) Unfortunately, High Overseer Coleman seemed singularly unaffected by this. Actually, he seemed to sense that Corvo was trying to intimidate him, and in response, was doing everything in his power to show that it wasn’t working. Corvo had other tactics, though. By the time Coleman called for a break, though, he had a headache threatening just behind his eyes.

“I think we are need of some refreshments for the moment, if that is okay with you, Lord Protector?” asked Coleman. His voice seemed somewhat clipped, the fake cheerfulness almost gone now that it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He called in a servant who left and quickly returned with a bottle of wine and a platter full of fine-looking fruit. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Corvo. He offered a toast, saying, “To our young Empress, may her reign be prosperous!”

Corvo clinked glasses with him politely and responded, “To our Empress.” He watched the High Overseer drink from his glass closely while pretending to take a sip from his own. He didn’t think the man was out to poison him--not at the moment, at least--but he’d been wrong before. He didn’t trust anyone anymore.

Coleman sighed and set his glass on the table, once again studying him with his shrewd gaze. Calculating. “What is it that I can do to convince you that the Abbey needs more freedom and more resources, Lord Attano? The heretics pose more of a threat than you can see. They are dangerous, and will bring this empire to its knees, given the slightest chance. Perhaps you need to see what it is we face. Would you allow me to show you exactly what type of people we are protecting the city from?”

Corvo didn’t particularly like the sound of that, but with some sinking suspicion he raised an eyebrow as he set his glass on the table and said, “Very well, High Overseer. If you think it is necessary, show me what it is I need to see.”

* * * *

_Half-marks are uncommon. Those that bear them are often treated worse than plague victims. They are shunned. Cursed. The Overseers treat them like they’re barely half a step up from heretics. It is the general opinion that if you are half-marked, then you clearly have done something heinous to be deserving of such a curse. Before this point, Daud hadn’t really believed that. Before, he’d only ever felt a vague sort of pity for those forced to walk through their lives with a one-sided bond staring them in the face every day. Now, though? He isn’t so sure._

_Daud sits on his bed and decidedly does not look at his arm. He does not let himself think of the man his mark binds him to. The man whose life he just ruined. He had worked to suppress the worst of his emotional reaction. He’s settled into a numb sort of shock. He doesn’t know **why** he would be shocked, though. If there was anyone that deserved a curse, wasn’t it him? Now he has a single circle of Void script on his arm to remind him of that. Perhaps that is the universe’s version of justice. _

* * * *

The last time Corvo had wandered through these halls, he’d been sneaking up along the pipes and maintenance catwalks near the ceiling so it took him a minute to get his bearings and realize that they were headed towards the interrogation room. Even before they were close enough, his mind provided him with a litany of tortured screams to bounce around in his skull. The seemingly endless nightmare that had been his six months in Coldridge prison had never left him--he wasn’t sure how often he awoke in a cold sweat thinking he was back there.

Coleman whispered something to one of his underlings, who ran ahead, presumably to inform the torturer that they were coming. The room was not sound proofed. The doors may have been closed, but the vents above them were still open, and Corvo flexed his hands uncomfortably in his gloves as he heard the anguished yell coming from within. The ancient music was also playing--not loudly or strongly enough to cause any damage, but still enough to dampen his powers and for him to feel the pressure in his skull. He had a bad feeling about this.  

“We captured this one several nights ago in one of the abandoned areas of the city,” Coleman said and opened the door for Corvo. “I do believe it may be the highlight of my career already.” He was covering it with false humility, but Corvo could hear the excitement in his voice.

Corvo entered the interrogation chamber warily and saw, with little surprise, exactly who it was that the High Overseer was so gleeful to have finally caught--the assassin Daud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there is a canon High Overseer in the novel and in Dishonored 2, but I read the wiki on him and he's described as being a 'kind man' and on good terms with both Corvo and Emily. That's not what I needed for this fic, so I made a new guy. This is an AU after all.  
> I have a really hard time writing Corvo, so I hope he comes across okay. Maybe I'll get used to him as I go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! After three full drafts and countless fragmented ones, Here it is, the second chapter, and I am fairly happy with it. (Also, I don't know if it's AO3 or my word processor, but one of them is counting the words wrong. My word processor reads this story as being 6131 words, but AO3 only says 5638. That's quite a big discrepancy.)

_**T** here’s a film of cold sweat coating Corvo’s skin, making his clothes and mask stick to him uncomfortably. He’s also shivering badly enough that he has to steady his crossbow with both hands. The Tyvian poison coursing it’s way through his bloodstream is continuing to wreak havoc on him. His memories of the past day or so--he’s not even certain how long it’s been since he collapsed in the attic room at the Hound Pits--where they’re not altogether blank, are foggy at best. They are surreal and contradictory, and he has to wonder how many of them are real and how many were merely hallucinations conjured by his fevered brain._

_He’s not in any shape for fighting, so he avoids the Whalers flitting around as best he can, but there are a couple he’s forced to sleep dart. They’re lucky he’d managed to find a bundle of them in one of the buildings, as the ones he’d had with him had been ruined by their plunge into the floodwater. (He’s not sure why he’s so merciful to them, of all people. Of the people he’s encountered since Coldridge, wouldn’t these assassins be some of the most deserving of his blade? He’s only sure that there’s a darkness infecting him that has grown with every life he’s taken and it has started to frighten him. He doubts this mercy will be extended to Daud himself, however.)_

_Corvo finds the assassin in question in a makeshift office in the Chamber of Commerce, leaning over an audiograph and speaking of regrets. Anger and hatred flare up, hot and violent, because how dare he? What right does he have to speak of regret now? (Corvo ignores the part of himself that empathizes, that points at his own guilt and regret and understands. Not all the people he’s killed have been guilty.)_

_Daud doesn’t immediately look up when Corvo steps from the shadows. “I know your footsteps, Corvo,” he says quietly, and there’s something almost sad tinging his voice. When he finally raises his head to meet the eyes of Corvo’s mask, his expression is resigned. Accepting. When Corvo unfolds his sword, Daud unsheathes his own, the Outsider’s Mark flaring on his hand. Time slows around them, stopping the Whalers that had transversed in to defend their master. “This is my fight!” Corvo hears him say to them. They stay back after that._

_The heat of Corvo’s anger grants him energy in spite of the poison still ravaging his system. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s not fully up to speed and for a moment, he fears losing this fight. But then he notices something odd: in spite of the taunts that Daud is hurling at him, it almost seems as though he’s pulling his attacks. Corvo quickly dismisses the observation as his imagination. Right up until the point where he manages to land what can’t have been much more than a glancing blow and the assassin retreats. Corvo advances on him nevertheless, sword at the ready. The Whalers appear again in front of their downed leader, but before they can land a blow, Daud orders them away--and maybe it hadn’t been his imagination after all. They hesitate, but obey._

_Corvo surges forward to press his blade against the assassin’s throat and he can feel the angry fire burning in his chest. Daud doesn’t fight back. But he does ask for mercy. He speaks of guilt and regret and broken things, and Corvo can see the sincerity in his eyes._

_Corvo thinks, for just a moment, that he might execute him anyways--satisfy the darkness. Avenge his soulmate. But just like that, the anger flickers out. Corvo is tired. Tired to his bones. Tired of killing. And he knows the bitter taste of guilt and regret. He takes a step backwards, folds his sword and turns away. He hears a release of pent-up breath behind him and a soft, almost puzzled, “You choose mercy?” and then an even softer, “You ****are** ** a mystery.” before the sound of a transversal. _

_Over the coming days and weeks, Corvo often wonders about his decision. Whether it was the right one to make. In the end, he has to set the internal argument aside because he’s never satisfied with his own answers._

__* * * *_ _

Corvo hadn’t envisioned this visit to the Abbey going quite like this when he got up this morning, but if he was honest, in the back of his mind he’d known there was a possibility. He schooled his features to look coldly detached as he looked over the man in the torturer’s chair. Daud was a mess, to put it mildly, but it was nothing Corvo wouldn’t expect after being a ‘guest’ of the Overseers for nearly two weeks. His arms and chest were covered with fresh and partially-healed wounds--angry burn marks and bleeding, oozing cuts. It didn’t look like the Overseers bothered to clean and bandage them when they were done with him every night as had been done for Corvo during his stay in Coldridge. They clearly weren’t trying to keep him alive. (The reminder of his own torture made his scars flare up as though they weren’t long-healed.) For a moment, the two men’s eyes met and Daud’s were filled with an odd mixture of resignation and defiance.

Corvo hadn’t thought to encounter the assassin again after their confrontation in Rudshore. Daud had spoken of leaving Dunwall behind, and that was what Corvo had assumed he would do. It had been over a year now, and there had been no word of anyone dying by the Whalers’ hands. Then, a little less than two weeks ago, Corvo’s assumption had been proven wrong.

Corvo had picked up on some disturbing rumours surrounding an abandoned building not far from the Flooded District lately, and he’d decided to investigate, thinking them nothing more than exaggerated ghost stories. To his alarm, he’d quickly discovered that there was nothing exaggerated about them. The Void was leaking through, and whatever anomaly was causing it had given him a headache from nearly a block away and blocked his powers as he approached. The closer he got, the more the pressure built around his head. Maybe that was why he’d failed to notice that he wasn’t alone. Or perhaps he’d just gotten careless. Either way, he’d not been inside the building long before he ran nearly headfirst into Daud.

They only had a beat to stare at one another in shock (apparently Daud hadn’t realized there was anyone else there either, so Corvo felt slightly better about his blunder) before the anomaly spiked, sending a burst of pain so intense through Corvo’s head--and apparently Daud’s too, by his reaction--that he must have blacked out for a minute or two. It was after that that the Overseers had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Five in front of them with a music box, and two behind. Daud, who had still been holding his head up to this moment, looked between the two groups, his gaze briefly settling on Corvo. He snarled, drew his sword and turned towards the larger group where the Overseer wielding the music box had begun to crank the handle. Over his shoulder, he growled at Corvo, “Go, get out of here!” before rushing headlong at them.

At the time, Corvo hadn’t stopped to wonder why. He’d charged the two behind and took them down as quickly as he could before running off through the alleys until he felt his powers return so he could escape to the rooftops. There had been some small part of him that had wanted to turn back, if only to see what had happened. He hadn’t.

Since that whole puzzling affair, Corvo had managed to find out nothing about the encounter. His attempts at investigating had proved too dangerous to go through with. The Overseers kept a constant guard on the building in question, and with the way the anomaly affected him it was inadvisable to try to sneak in. Not only that, but all the research on Void anomalies he’d attempted had come up with nothing concrete, and he’d heard no word of other, similar cases in the city. And as for Daud? Corvo had assumed he’d either gotten away or been killed. Every time Corvo had ever heard of a Whaler being captured, they had taken their own life with a poisoned needle before any questions could be asked. Daud must have fallen unconscious before he had the chance--whether from the influence of the anomaly, or a direct onslaught from a music box or, more likely, both.

Now, Corvo could feel the High Overseer’s eyes on his back, likely awaiting some kind of reaction. “I assume you recognize him,” Coleman said. “The infamous ‘Knife of Dunwall’, assassin, heretic, and murderer of our fair empress, now brought low. Not that he wasn’t the lowest of the low already--look at him, twice cursed.” This last, he spat out contemptuously, waving at Daud’s left arm, sneering down his nose.

In response, Daud snarled, “Come down here and see how low I am, you arrogant prick.” In contrast with his words, Corvo could tell that pain and exhaustion had taken their toll and that the threat was an empty one. Curious about the ‘twice cursed’ comment, Corvo glanced at where Coleman had gestured. His gaze slid over Daud’s Outsider’s Mark--visible on the back of his hand and much the same as Corvo’s own--and up to his forearm. That was where he saw what the High Overseer had been referring to--a broken soulmark. A single circle of Void script was scarred pearly-white into his flesh inches above the wrist. It was nearly the same place Corvo’s own mark was located. He had pitied the half-marked in the past. Unintentionally, he glanced up at Daud’s face. The assassin had seen him looking and something like shame showed in his eyes before he looked away. (Corvo had never considered the assassin having a soulmark at all. Logically, he knew he probably did--nearly everyone had gotten one by their age, but it made him seem too human.)

Corvo turned to Coleman abruptly and asked, “How did you say you captured him?”

Coleman wrinkled his nose, moving his gaze to Daud. “We caught him red-handed, performing black magic in the city.” (At this, Corvo is almost positive that he hears Daud snort. Coleman either didn’t hear, or ignored it.) “The building where we captured him,” Coleman continues, “and the area around it are still feeling the effects--the cursed Void has bled through. Two of my men were killed and one severely injured bringing him down, but it was because of them we were able to subdue him.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow. It honestly had never occurred to him to blame Daud for the Void anomaly. It seemed somewhat unlikely. Daud had been just as incapacitated by it as Corvo had, and Corvo had never heard, nor saw any evidence of the Whalers practicing any type of proper witchcraft beyond simple bonecharm crafting. To his--admittedly somewhat sparse--knowledge, any magic that could have caused a disturbance of that magnitude would have required powerful and complicated rituals--or one to go horribly wrong.

Corvo had to fight not to clench his hands in his gloves when Coleman continued, “There was another seen with him that night on the scene. You, of course, know of the Masked Felon.” It wasn’t a question. Everyone knew that Farley Havelock had claimed that Corvo was the Masked Felon--quickly proven to be a false claim created to cover up the conspiracy’s guilt, of course. “We assume the two heretics have banded together and are now allies, perhaps to further whatever agenda they had in creating that abomination in Rudshore.”

“It is quite a shame you didn’t manage to capture him as well. I’ve heard he’s caused quite a stir in the city of late.” said Corvo.

“Yes, well,” Coleman dragged out, turning to glare at Daud, “He had _help _.__ This one covered his escape.”

(Yes. He’d saved Corvo from a fate worse than death. But _why?_ )

Just then, the pressure in Corvo’s head that he’d been dealing with ever since he’d come into hearing range of the ancient music jolted up into a spike of pain that seared itself through his skull and he couldn’t stop himself from lifting a hand to his temple with a wince. Coleman moved forward with a look of feigned concern.

“My Lord, you’re not looking well.”

Corvo waved it off. “Ah, I’ve merely had a headache all day. It’s the heat that does it.”

The High Overseer now was studying him with a barely concealed sharp suspicion that made the hairs on the back of Corvo’s neck stand up. A soft voice spoke into his ear then, __“_ Where other men have their beliefs and their suspicions, this one believes he knows everything there is to know. He thinks he can never be wrong, and anything that doesn’t fit the facts he knows, he will twist until they do. Be wary.” _

“Perhaps we should move back into my office,” said Coleman, “it was quite a bit cooler in there, and lacks the…smell.”

Corvo nodded. “That would be agreeable.”

With that, Coleman turned to the torturer and said, “Take him back to his cell for the evening,” before turning to leave.

Before following, Corvo glanced once at Daud. The assassin had been watching him with an unreadable expression. For a moment, their eyes met again before Daud looked away. Corvo turned and left the room to follow the High Overseer down the hall.

As soon as he was far enough away that he could no longer hear the ancient music, the feeling of the steel band crushing his skull loosened, and he felt his connection to the Void return. He nearly sighed in relief. He wasn’t sure how Daud had been able to endure it for so long.

Once again in the High Overseer’s office, Coleman settled in behind his desk, but Corvo went to stand near the open window. Coleman leveled his stare at him before speaking. “Do you see, Lord Protector? Do you see what it is that I am defending this city against? Daud practices his dark sorceries with his followers and murders people for coin.” He put on a pained expression. “He put a sword through our sweet empress, and even you, skilled as you are, were powerless to stop him.”

The words were meant to hurt, they were petty and manipulative, but somehow, even knowing this, they still felt like a punch to the gut. Corvo swallowed and tried to suppress his expression, but by the quickly-hidden smug look on Coleman’s face, he could tell he hadn’t completely succeeded.

“He is far from the only one,” Coleman continued, “There are many more out there lurking in the shadows--this Masked Felon for one. He grievously injured two of my men the night we saw him.” (Corvo would hardly call a sleep dart to the thigh, a crossbow bolt through the hand, or a blow to the head from a sword hilt “grievous injuries” but he wasn’t going to argue it.) “These heretics are highly dangerous criminals and there is no telling what they might do next. Daud’s followers, for one, are still out in the city--we have been unable to glean their new location from him. They could choose to continue whatever insidious plan he set in motion--we have the location under quarantine, but there’s no guarantee they can’t start over again. My point, Lord Attano is we __need--__ ”

Corvo cut him off. “Why wasn’t the Crown informed of Daud’s capture?” It was Corvo’s turn to pin Coleman with an unnerving stare.

The High Overseer stiffened at the interruption. “Why--this heretic--”

“Heretic or not, High Overseer,” Corvo continued coldly, “the worst of this man’s crimes were not religious in nature. They were against the state. _Why were we not informed of his capture?”_

“Heresy is the realm of the _Abbey,_ Lord Attano. It has always been this way.”

“A heretic never assassinated an Empress of the Isles before. This isn’t some poor fool with a bonecharm. He should be in Coldridge, awaiting trial.”

“Coldridge,” Coleman sneered. “Coldridge is not capable of holding a man like this. Especially not since you…declawed the staff there. A firmer hand is needed with this one.”

“I have heard that Coldridge was fortified against sorcery after my escape with recordings of the ancient music and posted with Overseer guards, was it not? We are capable of taking similar, more stringent precautions now.”

“It didn’t work the first time! There was an escape after those measures were taken!”

“The escapee was an average criminal gang boss who had never been suspected of heresy or sorcery before. It’s likely that corrupt guards and bribes were involved. I will supervise the fortification of the prison myself, and see to it that any guards involved are trustworthy.”

“I assure you, Lord Protector, we at the Abbey are much more suited to holding and handling a prisoner like this.”

“But criminals against the state are not your responsibility, High Overseer,” Corvo answered calmly. “I will inform the parliament of your capture of the Empress’s murderer, and they will see to it that he is moved to Coldridge to await trial.”

Coleman was no longer attempting to cover up the fact that he was glaring daggers at him. He nodded curtly and said, “Very well, Lord Attano.”

The Heart spoke up again before Corvo left. _“He will not let this go anytime soon, and his revenge will likely come in a form you won’t expect.”_

Conflict and doubt roiled in Corvo’s chest for the rest of the night after leaving the Abbey. Two parts of himself--the dark, angry thing that had been born of grief, suffering and betrayal, and the part that still clung white-knuckled to his humanity--were fighting over one question: Had it really been worth risking what was probably going to be a dangerous feud with the Abbey for the sake of the man who had killed Jessamine?

During the seemingly endless nightmare that had been his stay in Coldridge Prison, Corvo had come to the realization that no human being deserved to be put through the fate he was living. (After Emily’s coronation, he’d made moves to introduce laws controlling the treatment of prisoners throughout the Isles. Because Coldridge was directly under the Crown’s control, it had already seen improvement.)

Despite this, the twisted, inhuman part of him argued that Daud’s fate was only fair. After all, it was what his actions had condemned Corvo to. _You should have left him there,_ it said. _Left him to be tortured until he gave up all hope, until he couldn’t remember what was real and what wasn’t, until he thought he had the blood of the one he loves the most on his hands. Left him to die there._

Corvo had killed a lot of people after (and during) his escape from Coldridge. There had been a darkness planted in his soul that had lashed out with vengeance, and it had grown with every life he took. He began to fear it consuming him, and those around him. He began to reign it into the best of his ability, pushing it down into the depths where it continued to snarl and howl for blood. To keep it from staining him further, he’d even allowed his soulmate’s killer to walk free.

(This current choice had seemed simpler. He didn’t doubt, however, that somewhere in the Void, the Outsider was laughing at him.)

Later in the evening, after giving Emily a kiss goodnight, Corvo perched out on the Tower roof, looking out over the city. (He rarely slept at night anymore. Nightmares and insomnia were only part of the problem. He was so _alone_ in his dreams now. He’s thankful that Jess isn’t being subjected to his nightmares, but the isolation is suffocating. Most nights he escapes to the rooftops--running from his demons in a more literal sense--and he sleeps only when exhaustion takes him.)

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he started when the Heart manifested itself in his hand and Jessamine’s soft voice whispered in his ear, _“You fear that granting mercy to the one who took the Empress’s life will betray her memory.”_

“Yes,” he replied softly. He didn’t expect to hear anymore on the subject. The Heart didn’t seem to have been designed for conversation, but merely for the occasional cryptic comment or wry observation. If indeed there was a piece of Jessamine within it, it was merely the palest shade of the real thing. He still found himself taking comfort from it’s familiar voice, however.

 _ _“_ The dead are not capable of forgiving the living,” _the Heart said, _“but the living do what they must.”_ He looked down at it in surprise, but it offered no further comment. After a time, he dismissed it back to the Void and continued his quiet vigil over Dunwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There hasn't been a whole lot from Daud's end yet, but that's soon to change. I also feel like this chapter gave me a better grasp of how I want to write Corvo. I have an actual plan for this story, so I do hope yall are willing to hang in there with me. I write very slowly, but fairly steadily. Anyways, I hope it was decent, and I hope you enjoyed it. ~II


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